


Fang Bang

by CeruleanHeart



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Confused Steve Harrington, Lost Boys AU, M/M, Passive-Agressive Flirting, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vampire Billy Hargrove, Vampires, for which the rating will go up as well, there will also be blood sucking and banging in future chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-03-01 08:16:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18796495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeruleanHeart/pseuds/CeruleanHeart
Summary: Much to his dismay Steve has to spend the summer in Santa Carla with his estranged grandfather and almost-divorced mother.On his first night out he meets a handsome stranger at a rock concert and is immediately captured by his rough allure. He soon makes friends with Billy, the charming bad boy, and the motley gang of teenage-outlaws he's the leader of. But why do they only hang around the boardwalk at night, why is Santa Carla called the "Murder Capital of the World" and most importantly, who will save Steve once he finds the answers to these questions?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in the summer of '84 in an alternate timeline with no Upside Down, where Nancy ended up picking Jonathan instead of Steve way sooner. Steve is still 17 turning 18 at some point during late summer, maybe August.

_“A gentle rain reminds me…”_ an airy woman’s voice sings on the radio, the sound drifting through the driver’s cabin and out of the open window, mixing with the rush of warm ocean air that's blowing in Steve’s face _“... of a love I can’t forget...”_

Steve frowns at the lyrics and mood gone sour with the memories of a love of his own he can't forget, he turns away from the window to change the channel. The sight he watched fly past their car for the last one and a half hours, that endless blue of the sea sparkling under the midday sun, is momentarily forgotten like his mind has been called back to Hawkins and a girl he’d lost to someone else.

“Hey! I like that song!” his mom protests, her manicured nails tapping the steering wheel of their rental angrily while Steve flicks from station to station.

“Keep going, keep going.” Steve mumbles to himself every time he tunes in a new channel, ignoring her until he settles on a song that sounds vaguely familiar and a lot more adequate.

“ _People are strange when you’re a stranger. Faces seem ugly when you’re alone.”_ the singer chants along to a tune that somehow manages to be both cheerful and ominous at the same time _“Women seem wicked, when you’re unwanted…_ ”

Yeah, that seems about right. _So_ wicked, _so_ unwanted. With a grunt, Steve slumps back into his seat and crosses his arms.

“I don’t know why you’re in such a bad mood.” the tapping of the nails stops in favor of a chastising side glance “Other kids your age would kill to spend the summer in California. And we haven’t visited your grandfather in nearly ten years.”

“Didn’t know you missed him.” Steve grumbles, holding back a comment about how it also has been nearly ten years since the last time his mother threatened his father with divorce.

“Young man, I don’t like that attitude! How can you talk to your poor mother like that after what I’ve been through?” she sniffs and wipes away an imaginary tear.

It used to be a pattern, Steve’s mother got fed up with her husband's affairs, packed her bags, grabbed Steve as leverage and took off to stay with her hippy father in Santa Carla for a while. Back then Steve always got excited to see the weird old man, but this time he would’ve preferred to stay at home and nurse his broken heart until his dad got his shit together, dumped whatever mistress he currently had, apologized and bought his wife a new car.

But there had been no chance in hell that his parents would’ve trusted him with staying alone in the house all summer long. Not after a girl had drowned in their pool during one of Steve’s private parties last October. So California it is.

“Look, I’m sorry mom, ok?” he sighs, resigned and returns his attention to the landscape outside the window to escape her frown.

They’re riding along the top of a cliff now and in front of them the coastline describes a curve and opens up into a large bay. From up here, Steve can see the beach gleaming in the sun and the waves rolling in, lazily licking at the yellow sand.

Going down a hill they soon pass a billboard that shows a picturesque little seaside town and greets them in big friendly letters. 

WELCOME TO SANTA CARLA!

“Oh look!” his mom perks up behind the steering wheel, visibly excited “We’re almost there!”

Steve leans forward and squints through the windshield, he only has fuzzy memories of Santa Carla, but the city coming up in front of them bears little resemblance with the idyllic picture on the billboard. It's much bigger, the houses a chaotic cluster of different shapes, colors and sizes framed on one side by the shape of a big roller coaster and an overcrowded beach. Even from far away it looks kinda like a giant, run-down amusement park.

Steve dares a look back at the road they’d come from and catches one last sight of the backside of the billboard before it disappears behind the hill. _This_ part is covered in stickers and graffiti, of which the biggest one reads “Murder Capital of the World”.

"The hell?" Steve mutters and shakes his head like one would shake off a bad dream as they slowly continue their descent into town.

 ____

 

“Santa Carla used to be a pleasant town when I was Steve’s age.” his mother calls from where she put down her vanity case, her upper lip curled in disdain, and wipes the sweat from her brow. “Have you seen what kind of condition the boardwalk area is in, dad? Trash and graffiti everywhere! Gangs and hobos and drug dealers loitering around in broad daylight!”

“Yeah, we got some bad elements ‘round here.” his grandfather replies with a shrug, temporarily busy with hauling his daughter's oversized suitcase up the stairs of the porch while Steve trails behind, carrying his own. “That’s why I prefer it out here, where it’s peaceful and quiet.”

It sure _is_ quiet out here. Grandpa doesn’t even have neighbors a few minutes outside of town, up a dirt road and on top of one of the many hills in the Santa Carla area. The property is huge, surrounded by woods and meadows. Two horses are grazing on a paddock behind the house which is still as big as Steve remembers it, an impressive, wooden two-story structure with an upper and lower porch on the front side.  

His mom usually doesn't talk about her family background but when she can’t avoid it she calls her father “an artist who’s truly in touch with nature”. Steve isn’t sure if you could or _should_ count grandpas weird-ass carved wood sculptures and passion for taxidermy art, though.

Inside, his mother is inspecting her makeup in a dusty mirror, frowning at her reflection and shaking her head.

“It’s a downright shame, is what it is.” she sighs “Letting a town degenerate like that.”

They only made a short stop in town before, to fill up on gas, but since then Steve and his mother seem to have swapped moods. Maybe it's because the shabby and off-beat vibe of the city center had shattered her childhood memories but awakened Steve’s appetite for summer, the beach and adventure.

Sure, Steve thinks while he drags his luggage inside, Santa Carla has definitely seen better days but if you ask him it still has appeal. It's a busy, bustling town, vibrant with a diversity Steve isn't used to from Hawkins. Everything seems to burst with vivid color and a whimsical, crazy energy. 

While the gas station attendant had given the car a top up, Steve watched the mix of beachgoers, surfer dudes, latinos, punks, hippies and town folk passing by with a sense of deep longing.

It isn’t just the prospect of sun on his face, sand between his toes and ocean salt on his skin. Steve can’t wait to return and mingle with the motley crowd and drown his sorrows in all the cheap thrills Santa Carla promises.  

But of course his mom only picked up the bad parts. Which makes him remember…

“Hey grandpa, is it true that Santa Carla is the murder capital of the world?” he asks, finally setting down his suitcase next to his mother’s.

“Well let me put it like this if all the dead bodies buried ‘round here were to stand up all at once… We’d have one hell of a population problem!” his grandfather chuckles wiggles his brows and gives him a little shoulder nudge.

The thing with the old man is, you never know when he's joking and when he's serious. Like five minutes earlier when the weirdo had played dead in the driveway just to prank his daughter and grandson instead of greeting them like a normal person. Steve simply settles for half-hearted grin in response.

His mother rolls her eyes when she sees it.

“Oh, dad! Stop it with the horror stories! The boy’s got enough nonsense between his ears!”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to roll his eyes. Yeah, it's always nice to be reminded that his parents think he's an airhead and getting patronized is just what he needs at almost 18.

“Stevie here looks like he can watch out for himself.”

Grandpa might not send gift cards for Christmas but at least when Steve’s here he sorta has his back. He gives Steve’s hair a good tousle like he’d done it since he’d been merely a toddler, only nowadays he has an actual hairstyle that gets ruined by it.

“Isn’t that right, eh?”

“Sure, grandpa.” Steve replies with a weary sigh.

Of course he can watch out for himself he thinks, almost offended, as he tries to get his hair back under control and listens to the old man ramble on about some stupid house rules that include a strict code for the second shelf of the fridge. Of _fucking_ course he can!

____

Steve can absolutely and totally look after himself.

He’s really getting the hang of not getting knocked over or shoved into an oil barrel fire when someone bumps into him for the umpteenth time this night. It’s a good thing he managed to split with his mom for the evening because this way he can move freely around what is without a doubt the biggest party in Santa Carla.

The beach is absolutely packed with people dancing, jumping, clapping along to the music of a rock band. Electric guitar and saxophone tunes fill the warm night air, making it buzz with high-voltage sounds.

Some people have wandered over from the boardwalk still holding balloons, candy or stuffed toys won at one of the game booths, watching with a type of incredulous awe that matches Steve’s own. Others must have come here specifically for the concert, they’re screaming their faces off along to the lyrics banging their heads or doing the sign of the horns, faces sweat-drenched and euphoric.

Earlier Steve wandered in by pure chance while exploring the boardwalk area and this, a free concert at the beach is exactly the kind of kick he didn’t know he needed tonight. He’d watched them set up and managed to get a good spot closer to the stage that way, right at the center of the action.

It’s really crowded down here in front of the bandstand and he’s squeezed in tight between a bunch of strangers. Sand is starting to fill his shoes and he’s beginning to sweat from the heat of the fire in front him and the bodies around him. But Steve hardly notices it because the _atmosphere_ is awesome, downright ecstatic. Steve drinks it in like it’s the elixir of life, let’s the tunes flow through his body and the stage lights dazzle his eyes.

He doesn’t know the song, has never even heard the name of the band but that doesn’t matter because they’re absolutely amazing in a super sleazy, totally overdone way.

Their lead singer is an oiled-up 6’5” bodybuilder with a ponytail, wearing nothing but a pair of skin-tight purple leggings and way too many belts. He’s both mesmerizing and terrifying. A greasy god that’s rhythmically thrusting and gyrating his hips while he’s killing his saxophone solo, balancing right on the edge of the stage between two burning oil barrels.

The performance is something between ridiculous and fantastic you have to see with your own eyes to believe it. Steve can’t decide whether he should laugh or cheer.

To be fair, he’s probably not the right guy to judge that because among the beach bums, tourists, surf nazis, punks, and headbangers Steve admittedly looks a tad overdressed and out of place. On his first night out, and a friday night at that, he wanted to make an impression, so he went for something stylish and cool. Something Tom Cruise in “Risky Business” inspired, complete with a black blazer and a pair of wayfarers tucked into the collar of his t-shirt, realizing too late that he still picks his outfits after what Nancy would’ve liked.

Everyone else looks like they live on the beach in one way or another and Steve infiltrated their natural habitat, he thinks, as he lets his eyes wander over the crowd.

A group of guys that can’t be much older than Steve by the stairs leading up to the boardwalk even managed to smuggle in a whole beer keg and absolutely nobody, not a single soul, seems to care. Steve is pretty sure even in Santa Carla public drinking is illegal but that doesn’t stop one of the headbangers assembled around it to attempt a keg stand in the middle of hundreds of people.

Steve openly stares at the scene, too baffled to return his attention to the concert. The guy doing the keg stand seems to aim for a new record. Which yeah, is no surprise because from what Steve can tell, he is trashy as hell. He snorts at how hard the guy tried with that bad boy look he’s got going on, clad in skin-tight jeans and a black leather jacket, a dirty blonde mullet obscuring his face as he chugs down the beer while his friends cheer him on.

Steve doesn’t even know why he’s still looking when there’s a concert going on right in front of him but here he is, actually counting along until the guy taps the side of the keg and they let him down. Within a second he's on his feet and throws his head back to spray the last sip of beer out of his mouth with such force that the liquid turns into a fine mist. It’s totally gross, _so_ _disgusting,_ but despite that Steve freezes when he sees his face.

The music, the lights, the people, the oily sax player on the stage, it all blurs into fuzzy background noise as Steve feels his jaw drop.

Headbanger is _filthy hot_. Holy shit.

Steve watches the guy push his hair back from where it clings to his face, lick the beer from his upper lip. He's shirtless under his biker jacket, skin slick all over, abs gleaming in the orange light of the oil barrel fires.

It's like the last scene of a fucking porno. The guy looks like he just _came,_ beautiful and obscene.

He shakes his long curls, head still leaned back, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, red mouth hanging open and the tip of his tongue peeking out from his lips. Glistening sweat runs down his temples and his thick neck, his wide chest heaving.

Steve just stands there and stares, everything else forgotten.

 _What the fuck?_ he thinks _What the fucking fuck?_

Apparently, headbanger can hear his thoughts with the help of some kind of superhuman heavy metal senses or whatever because one moment he’s wiping beer and spit off his chin and the next his head snaps around and his gaze lands on Steve, cutting through the mass of people between them with laser sharp focus.

It stuns Steve, almost stops his heart for a second when they lock eyes.

The moment doesn’t last, shatters instantly when Steve sees a flash of white and a vicious grin splits the stranger’s handsome face. It’s the only warning Steve gets before headbanger jumps down three stairs at once and starts shoving through the crowd with the unstoppable force of a tank.

Steve has just enough time to think a heartfelt _Shit!_ before the person in front of him is rudely pushed away and he meets the guy face to face.

For the duration of a heartbeat, Steve is a hundred percent sure the guy will pick a fight. Drop a pithy line about staring and trouble and just deck him. But he just hovers, close enough that they could almost share a breath, shoulders pushed back and chin raised, imposing but not threatening and his strikingly blue eyes impossibly bright in the night as they rake over Steve’s body.

The intensity of the stare sends a shiver down his spine that isn’t entirely unpleasant but the insolence of that guy just coming over and _eye fucking_ him in public without saying so much as a word also raises Steve’s hackles. Because ok, he’s been caught looking but headbanger definitely put on a show there and Steve’s not gonna let some dude intimidate him for giving him the attention he clearly craves.

So he rises to the challenge and mirrors his stance, suddenly aware that he’s got at least an inch in height on the mullet wearing asshole. Steve licks his lips in anticipation, squares his shoulders and waits for the other to make the next move.

People have cleared the space around them, now standing in a circle obviously expecting a fight. For a few seconds, the boys just remain suspended in their staring contest while behind Steve the concert continues. But when he doesn’t move nor break, the stranger finally cocks his head and starts to chuckle.

It’s a warm, pleasant sound, more approval than mockery, that immediately makes heat bloom all over Steve’s face. He’s thrown for a loop by the sudden change of mood and trying to regain his composure he opens his mouth to say something, _anything_ , but headbanger is already turning around again and starting to disappear in the crowd.

“Wait!!” Steve shouts, finally finding his voice again but not knowing where the impulse comes from.

It earns him a look over a leather-clad shoulder, a little wink, the pink flash of a tongue and finally an offhand gesture to follow.

Steve doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even question what he’s doing when he chases behind the other boy, pulled by the same inexplicable fascination that captured him when he spotted the yellow mop of curls a few minutes ago.

Keeping up is almost impossible, the guy is weaving his way past the people with the speed of a shark moving through shallow water and by the time Steve has made it up the stairs and back into the light and noise of the boardwalk area, he’s already gone.

“Great.” he mumbles to himself turning left and right scanning every face between the arcades and the boardwalk entrance. “He stiffed ya.”

Steve feels kinda embarrassed about chasing after some random dude in the first place and getting ditched doesn’t make him feel any less like an idiot. He kicks at one of the many bottle caps littering the ground in frustration and watches it skitter across the floor.

It dances over the uneven floorboards for a few steps, reflecting the flashing neon signs hanging everywhere until a heavy boot appears from behind one of the piers and stops it cruelly in its path.

A familiar figure peels from out of a shadow, breathing out a plume of smoke from too red lips. In the bright, gaudy lights of the boardwalk, Steve feels bared, stripped naked, by those cruel, captivating eyes that muster him for the second time tonight from behind a curtain of thick dark lashes.

The stranger steps closer, starts circling Steve like a beast of prey, stride slow but heavy, boots clicking with every step. His eyes still roaming over Steve’s form, he studies him, sizes him up like he’s looking for a fight after all. It makes Steve’s blood heat and his stomach flutter in all sorts of funny ways but he’s too stubborn to back down and leave.

“What’s up, man?” he finally breaks the game of chicken, annoyed but also trying to sound casual as he gives the other boy a small nod.

“Nuthin’.” the guy drawls gaze never faltering “Just scoping your civilian wardrobe.”

“Pretty cool, huh?” Steve shrugs because to hell with it, he knows he looks good. It’s not his fault Santa Carly doesn’t have standards and the guy is in no position to mock his outfit. He doesn’t even wear a shirt.

“For a fashion victim.” headbanger grins and flips his cigarette “You’re new in town?”

“I just came in from Indiana today.” Steve buries his hands in the pockets of his jeans, slowly turning as _he_ turns, circling closer with every step. But because that sounds kinda boring he adds, almost desperate to impress the other guy “Via San Fransisco.”

“I see.” the guy steps closer, close enough that Steve can count the stubble on his upper lip and square jaw, make out the smudge of kohl around his eyes. Then he leans in, soft curls brushing Steve’s temple and inhales deeply through his nose, smelling, breathing Steve in “Fresh meat, huh?”

“Wha… What?” Steve stumbles back a step, his heart suddenly dancing a wild staccato in his chest.

“You’re a pretty one, aren’t you?” those blue eyes have taken a savage, hungry look as he moves a step forward for every one Steve takes back “Can’t believe they let you go out alone at night. Don’t you know Santa Carla is a dangerous place?”

Steve frowns both angry and flustered that the guy seems to think he can mess with him like he’s some little country bumpkin leaving his village for the first time.

“Yeah? I see no danger.” he says, dismissive, and crosses his arms.

The guy’s face lights up at that and with another sleazy grin, he runs his tongue over the lower row of his teeth, seemingly intrigued.

“You’ve got some fire in you after all, don’t you?” he says and Steve can’t help but feel incredibly pleased about that.

He feels the corner of his mouth quirking into a little smile, uncrosses his arms and rests his hands on his hips instead.

“So what’s your-”

“BILLY!” a high voice interrupts Steve and makes the guy spin on his heels.

A girl is pushing past a group of tourists, approaching them fast, red hair flying behind her like a flag in a storm. She’s pale and delicate, not older than twelve or thirteen, her big, haunted eyes trained on the two of them, she seems very upset with something.

The guy, Billy, makes a displeased sound at her sight, then casts a woeful glance at Steve.

“Who…?” Steve starts but is cut off with a crude gesture.

“My sister. See you around, pretty boy.” and with those words, Steve is abandoned with nothing more than a shrug as Billy starts walking in the girl's direction with quick angry steps.

Steve watches them leave, nonplussed and totally not willing to chase after him a second time tonight. But it doesn’t escape him that when the siblings meet halfway, they immediately start arguing. The last thing Steve sees of them is the two shouting at each other while getting into a blue Camaro that’s parked by the roadside. A minute later the car rips out of its parking spot with screeching tires and disappears into the night.

Down at the beach, the band is starting a new song but Steve doesn’t feel like going back to watch the rest of the concert. Somehow the whole thing has lost its appeal.

Unaware that a pair of black eyes are watching him intently from where their owner leans against a beat-up old van that’s parked across the street, Steve decides to call it a night and go home. The day has been weird enough already

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s be real, it’s not a proper Lost Boys AU without the oily sax man. lol
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed this first chapter of my totally self indulgent vampire trash fic. As you can tell I’m having a lot of fun mashing scenes and lines from Stranger Things and Lost Boys together! Next chapter Steve is going to meet the rest of the vampire gang!
> 
> If you liked it, a kudos or a comment always makes my day! You can also find me on tumblr @highon85 for all kind of ST and 80s goodness!


	2. Chapter 2

Steve wakes up with a new roommate. One moment he’s softly roused from his slumber by the sun shining through his curtains and kissing his cheeks, stretches between the sheets, luxuriating in that blissful state between dreaming and waking and the next he meets the empty stare of a black-eyed, pale-faced demon.

The scream Steve lets out is so loud, it could rouse the dead. He goes from half awake into fight mode in less than a heartbeat, gets a hand around the creature's throat and hauls it off and away from where it’s looming over him.

By the time he realizes the thing is not a spawn of hell but instead one of his grandad’s pieces, a stuffed barn owl with its wings spread, it’s already sailing across his room. It hits the door of his closet with a loud thud and mercifully comes to rest face down on the floor. Steve is beyond grateful that he doesn't have to look at those eery doll eyes a second time.

He groans and slumps back into his bed. What a freakshow way to start the day. Disgusted he plucks at the few feathers that stick to his hand from touching the thing, tries not to think about how it’s essentially a glorified corpse.

“Steve, honey! Rise and shine!” his mother calls from downstairs, without a doubt having heard the noise “Come down and help with breakfast when you’re dressed!”

Steve closes his eyes for a few more peaceful seconds before he drags himself out of bed, pulls on a t-shirt and shuffles down the stairs.

Mom and grandpa are puttering around in the kitchen, it smells like fresh coffee and slightly burned toast. Steve is tasked with setting the table while his mother is making scrambled eggs and bacon and his grandfather is pressing fresh juice from the oranges he grows in the backyard.

“How’d you like my gift Stevie? Thought I’d bring you something to dress up your room with.” the old man asks, busy cutting a new batch of fruit.

His mom promptly sends Steve a sharp look over her shoulder and he swallows the remark that sits at the tip of his tongue, about preferring live animals over dead ones.

“Thanks, grandpa. It’s nice.” he says instead.

“Well, there’s more where she came from.” grandpa grins, delighted, and puts down a glass in front of Steve that contains more pulp than juice.

 _Please,_ Steve sends a silent prayer to the heavens _, please no more roadkill_.

The bacon is too soggy and the eggs too dry but at home, his mother never cooks, leaves that to the housekeeper who runs the Harington household and makes sure food is ready and the fridge is always stocked. It’s nice for a change, cozy and oddly homey. Steve can’t remember the last time they had a family breakfast back in Hawkins.

“How was last night honey? Did you have a good time at the boardwalk?” Mrs. Harrington asks pushing her food around on her plate.

“Yeah, it was ok. The concert was pretty cool.” Steve shrugs, knows better than to tell her about his encounter with Billy, knows how fussy she gets about what kind of company he’s supposed to keep. “It got quite late though, so I took a taxi back home.”

“Well, that sounds wonderful. I had a great evening as well. I met a _very_ interesting man at the marina.”

And yeah, Steve should have seen that coming, his mother never asks him about his day unless she wants an opportunity to talk about herself. It sure looks like someone’s out for revenge on an unfaithful husband too. Steve stuffs some toast into his mouth and nods silently, unperturbed because that as well is a common pattern at the Harrington’s.

“His name is Martin, _Dr._ Martin Brenner, and believe it or not he is one of the top plastic surgeons in California. He said he sees himself as a ‘preserver of eternal youth’ but that _I_ won’t be needing his services for a while to come.” she giggles like a young girl at the memory of that conversation and twirls a strand of hair around her finger, still glowing from the compliment.

“Well he’s right mom, you look fantastic.” Steve gives her his best smile because flattery is always a good investment.

“Oh, honey! Thank you!” she chirps and leans over to kiss his cheek “But I’ve been thinking. Do these look like crow’s feet to you?”

She’s pointing at the corner of her eye, looking all serious, waiting for Steve’s answer.

“I think, uh… I think you’ll have to ask Dr. Whatwashisname that.”

“Dr. _Brenner_. And I will! I’m meeting him at the Yacht Club tonight. They’re having a little soiree.”

Steve isn’t exactly sure what a soiree is but he’s both impressed and also a little bit offended that his mom managed to land a date sooner than he did.

Which is partly his own fault because he was busy chasing some delinquent instead of skirts last night. Steve’s only got himself to blame. Unless, of course, if he counts Billy’s throwaway remark about seeing him around.

His ears start burning at the thought because it’s _that_ ridiculous. There’s no guarantee he’ll ever see him again, doesn't even know if he wants to. On top of that, they’re both guys. Steve is pretty sure hanging with another dude doesn't make for much of a date in the first place. All he knows is that if his mom knew he even talked to a person like Billy, she’d have an aneurysm.

Maybe that’s where the appeal lies.

“So uhm…” Steve clears his throat, tries not to remember the heat of Billy’s eyes on him, the frantic rhythm of his own heartbeat when he held their gaze “Does that mean I can have the car tonight?"

 

________

 

Steve realizes he’s probably become too accustomed to the privileges he has back in Hawkins. But the humiliation of getting dropped off the near the boardwalk by grandpa in his beat up old truck still stings.

Mom needs the car to get her nails and hair done before she meets her date at the Yacht Club. Some things have priority and at this point, Steve is used to not being one of them. It’s no big deal, he can make it work. This way he’s free to do whatever he pleases. He’s got the whole afternoon ahead of him, pockets full of spending money and no plans whatsoever for the day.

First, he checks out the attractions like a good little tourist. But among all the families with small children populating the area at this time of the day, Steve feels pretty lost. The beachfront seems to have a completely different face in the daylight. The only remnants of that edgy spirit from last night Steve can find at this hour are a couple of punks sleeping off their hangovers in the shades.

There’s not much to see in the city center either, a little church, some shops and restaurants, a comic shop Nancy’s little brother and the nerd friends he entertains in the Wheeler’s basement would probably go nuts over. A lot of places in the cooler part of town that doesn’t cater to families are still closed or are just starting to open. Santa Carla, it seems, is a nocturnal animal that doesn't really wake up until after sunset. The town itself doesn't bother to offer much entertainment during the day when the main attraction is clearly and absolutely unchallenged, the beach.

It's a beautiful spot to be on a beautiful weekend. Everyone wants a little piece of it and Steve finds himself drawn to it along with them, soon becomes another spot in a sea of towels and umbrellas.

He sheds his jeans in favor of the swim shorts he wears underneath, digs his toes in the sand and lazes away in the sun for a while. But there’s not much to do except people watching and if Steve is honest, he’s already a little bit bored not more than an hour in. Sure, the weather is nice and the girls are pretty but the heat makes him sleepy and Steve’s the type that burns too easily to just spend all day tanning and enjoy it.

All these bikini babes who look like faces in a magazine walking by only make him realize he’s also still not over Nancy. At least not enough to get out there and kill time with flirting and picking up chicks. It’s a bit of a predicament.

He considers blowing some of the cash he’s been pacified with instead, but all the shops near the beach only sell tourist crap and the last thing Steve needs is a tie-dye shirt or a puka shell necklace. Of course, he could go for a swim or rent a fun tube and just float on the water for a bit but the downside of going to the beach alone is that he’s got nobody to look after his shit while he’s in the water.

A family with toddlers sets up camp next to him and Steve decides it’s time for a change of scene anyway.

The only purchase he settles on, in the end, is a slushie. He sips at it sitting on the boardwalk steps, enjoying the ocean breeze in his hair. For a while, he watches a group of surfers riding their boards near the cliff where the waves are higher.

It’s a whole different world out there, something like a mirage made of salty blue and scorching gold, inhabited by these strange mythical creatures who celebrate their secret rituals in between waiting for the next wave. Each of them is an embodiment of eternal summer, skin a deep bronze and hair all shades of sun-bleached. They’re something far away from Steve and out of reach, a dream that isn’t his own.

That bittersweet yearning from the day before is tugging at his chest again, calls him somewhere, to someone, away from this summer reverie. He closes his eyes for a second, sees stage lights flicker on the inside of his eyelids and catches the guilty memory of a switchblade smile.

It’s not like Steve is looking for him or anything, let alone came to the beach for a chance to meet him. He’s not a loser like that. And he’s certainly not perking up whenever he sees a familiar looking riot of dirty blond curls on a guy.

Billy just kinda gave off that certain beach boy vibe of someone who spends a lot of time in the sun and by the water. It wouldn’t be a _surprise_ to see him walk by, maybe shirtless with a surfboard under his arm, is all.

But then Steve thinks of leather jackets, fingerless gloves and the glowing end of a cigarette, eyes made too bright by the kohl around them. Maybe this isn’t Billy’s scene, after all, maybe he’s still asleep somewhere, hidden from the light like Steve’s summer spirit.  

It’s almost ironic, just a day ago this was everything he wanted, the sun on his face and the ocean salt on his lips. Lazy days and summer flirts. But now Steve feels like there’s nothing here for him, feels like he’s less than a tourist, just a kid that has been left behind on a family vacation.

There’s a restlessness growing inside of him, something akin to hunger, while he watches the sun travel slowly across the sky on its destination to kiss the horizon. The night is calling Steve’s name with a voice that sounds like it smoked too many cigarettes.

 

___________

 

The boardwalk is a magical place in the dark, a milky way of lights and colors and sound. Steve lets himself drift along with the current of the crowd through the never-ending carnival. The pulse of the night is strumming in his veins, its many voices are deafening in his ears.

Steve doesn’t even have to go on any of the rides to pick up the thrills, finds himself tipsy with vertigo just from watching the Wave Jammer spin, feels the cheers and screams of the people riding the Big Dipper bubbling in his own chest. The cheap prizes given out at the game booths hold little appeal, it’s way more fun to watch others try to win them at the water gun clown game or the Bazooka Blast.

Steve knows the night has more in store for him than glittering facades, can feel it on a visceral level. He’s on the hunt for something, chases a promise that’s only good after dark.

A commotion arises at the merry go round when he passes it. Steve stops and turns when he hears shouting and the shrill sound of a whistle.

Two groups are getting tough over there, he spots a punk with a huge mohawk one step away from a fistfight with some biker guy between the bobbing horses. They’re a rowdy bunch of kids, snarling and grappling with each other and the security guard trying to separate them looks everything but happy.

Steve suddenly remembers Billy’s warning and the less than subtle signs of street gangs popping up immediately after sunset all over town.

Others have stopped as well to watch the spectacle and a little crowd grows quickly around him, people showing through to get a better look. Someone bumps hard into Steve from behind and a wave of stale beer, smokes, wet leather and some dark, spicy date night cologne hits him.

“Hey!” he barks, annoyed, when the impact almost sends him tripping over his feet.

Steve spins around to face the asshole that tackled him, only to meet a wicked grin and a pair of electric blue eyes.

There he is, get-up unchanged from last night, a cigarette dangling from his lips, looking like a dirty fantasy. Billy.

The sight does funny things to Steve’s stomach gives him that tingly swooping feeling like when you plunge down the big fall on a rollercoaster.

“Indiana, amirite?” Billy drawls, cigarette bobbing between his teeth as he leans into Steve’s space.

And really, Steve shouldn't be so thrilled that Billy remembered him, recognized him in the crowd. Not when the guy radiates danger, trouble, like a nuclear plant. But what can he say he fucking _is,_ this is making his night.

“Steve, actually.” he replies, tries to hide a smile, plays it off with a shrug.

“Well, Steve.” Billy tips his head to the side, looks at him with hooded eyes, white smoke curling from the corners of his grin. He reaches out and pops the collar of Steve's pastel polo, gives him a wink. “Sorry to disappoint you but if you're looking for the diet frozen yogurt bar, it went out of business last summer.”

Steve snorts. He isn't even offended, it's a funny comment. Spot on, actually. Leaving the house in Lacoste and khaki slacks in a place like Santa Carla? He kinda had it coming. It's not like he packed much else either or would've been caught dead wearing the same outfit from last night. Also, touché. He _likes_ frozen yogurt.

But if he wants to play the game, he's got to play by the rules. This is Billy’s turf so Steve is the one who has to prove himself a peer. In Hawkins, it would be the other way round.

"Actually…" he says, combing his hair back with his fingers and scanning the boardwalk area behind the other boy in search of ammunition for a clever comeback.

A jewelry booth catches Steve's attention. It's actually just two big black boards with earrings pinned to them and a barber chair that's placed between a pair of giant cardboard ears. Above it, a sign says "FREE PIERCING WITH EACH $10 PURCHASE!"

His eyes flick back to Billy's face, find the small silver dagger dangling from a hoop in his left ear on their way, glittering as it catches the flashing lights around them.

"ACTUALLY…" Steve repeats, crosses his arms with a challenging little smirk "I'm looking to get my ear pierced."

Billy's eyebrows fly up in a moment of surprise and Steve can't help but feel a little triumphant about the slip in his cool facade.

"Yeah?" he asks, sounding doubtful, scratches the stubble on his chin with the knuckles of his fingers.

He's wearing too many rings, too many bracelets that jingle as his hand moves and not enough shirt.

"Yeah." Steve lies, nods in the direction of the booth "I was _just_ on my way."

Billy turns to see what Steve was pointing at and immediately shakes his head with a laugh when he spots the piercing stall.

"That's a rip-off!" he cackles and gives Steve a friendly nudge in the shoulder only to lean way too close again the next moment, to murmur all secretive "If you want your ear pierced I’ll do it for you."

The offer leaves Steve speechless with how quickly and easily Billy accepted the bait. Never mind that he didn’t actually want a piercing.

"I'll think about it." he shrugs in reply, playing it cool, there is only one master of the not-caring act and his name is Steve Harrington.

"Well don't think too hard, pretty boy." Billy says, eyes shimmering with mirth like he’s seeing right through him and takes another hard drag of his cigarette.

It's unfair, even the way he smokes is effortlessly sexy, cigarette pinched between thumb and middle finger, lips wrapped hungrily around the filter and cheeks hollowing. His eyes stay trained on Steve as they check each other out, openly and unabashedly.

"Got any other plans for tonight?" Billy asks after a few seconds of silence, words breathing white.

"Not really." Steve admits, poker-faced, pretends any plans he might have had never included Billy anyway.

Behind them the merry-go-round starts a new round after the forced stop, music picking up again, a symphony of happy tunes spills out into the night.

"Show is over!" the security guard shouts and blows his whistle again "Move along people!"

The crowd around them starts scattering and within a minute it's just Steve and Billy left.

"You heard the fat man.” Billy says, a challenge in his voice. “Rides are closing soon anyway.”

“Yeah? You know any better places to go?”

“Sure do. Wanna get out of here?"

"Well. Since I have nothing better to do…” secretly Steve feels giddy with excitement blood fizzing in his ears like a soda-pop.

Billy laughs, tongue poking out from between his teeth as he gives Steve a once over.

"Playing tough to get? I like it!" he chuckles, ashing on the floor "C' mon, let's go then. I’ll only ask once."

He curls his index finger, beckons Steve to come with him, leads him away from the merry-go-round towards the exit like it’s already decided. Steve follows both baffled and delighted at how smooth this went, way less complicated than chatting up chicks.

“Name’s Billy, by the way.” the other boy flashes Steve a smile over his shoulder and lets him catch up so they’re walking next to each other.

 _I know_ Steve thinks but he’s not like, gonna admit that he caught and remembered his name from last night.

“Billy’s great. I like Billy.” is what he settles on for a reply instead because it’s true, the name suits him. It’s got a bit of a renegade vibe, like Billy the Kid or something.

Billy beams and wraps a friendly arm around Steve’s shoulder, gives him a squeeze before he lets it fall away again.

“I know. Steve’s great too. I like Steve.”

Steve laughs because well, it’s a pretty average name but he’ll take the compliment.

“So.” he asks when they reach the passage under the arcades where they met for the first time, boardwalk in their back. “Where are we going, Billy?”

Billy takes the last drag of his cigarette and flips it over the balustrade that separates them from the beach.

“Wanna grab a bite?” he asks looking at Steve expectantly, eyes glistening with promise in the bright neon lights.

Steve thinks at this point he would rob a bank with Billy, but food sounds even better. It’s past nine and Steve hasn’t had anything except some snacks since breakfast, he could definitely go for something real to eat.

“Sure.”

“Alright.” Billy winks “This way!”

He leads them around a corner and they almost collide with a group of kids that’s loitering around on the sidewalk there. Steve recognizes them immediately as one of the gangs from the merry-go-round. The tall, lanky punk with the big mohawk is a dead giveaway, he just didn’t realize how big the group was until they block their way.

Steve follows his first instinct and tries to step around them, not giving them a second glance, just ignoring the gang. moving on. He’s looking to get some food not trouble and hopes to God Billy is too. But he doesn’t get far, a burly looking black guy intercepts him with a gentle shake of his head.

He casts a side glance at Billy who plants his feet one boot at a time and curls his upper lip back in a snarl.

“What’s the matter, guys?” he growls, jaw ticking and the tendons in his thick neck bouncing as he squares up.

Steve stomach drops.

A girl steps up to them, her arms crossed. She’s pretty short and petite but her aura is straight up menacing, clad in midnight, one side of her head shaved and the rest of her hair dyed a glaring purple.

“Leaving without us, Billy?” she asks, eyes slanted and tapping her foot.

She’s got the type of eyes that are so dark they’re basically black and can stare a hole into someone's soul with the intensity of their gaze. They remind Steve unpleasantly of those of the barn owl from this morning.

“That’s right, _Kali_." Billy snaps, teeth bared. “Steve here and I have plans for the night.

So they know each other, Steve isn’t sure if that’s a good sign or a bad one. He doesn’t miss how the girl, Kali, sucks in air sharply nostrils flaring while the other kids are exchanging glances and murmur to each other. Mohawk is the only one who’s laughing, bouncing on his heels. He gives a sharp whistle through his front teeth and suddenly a familiar looking head of flaming red hair pops up between them.

It’s the girl from last night, she’s pushing Kali to the side to get to her brother, another girl of the same age but with shorter, dark hair in her wake. Steve is weirdly relieved to see her.

“ _Billy ._ ” she hisses. “What are you doing?”  
  
Billy visibly deflates at her sight just shakes his head and scoffs.

“Relax, Max. We’re just going for a ride.”

His words do nothing to appease her, she balls her little fists eyes flickering between Steve and her brother, whole body shaking.

“But you _promised_!”

Meanwhile, the short-haired girl keeps her eyes trained on Steve, she’s eerily silent, wears way too much eyeliner for her age and looks like she raided her dad’s closet for clothes. Steve stands there feeling awkward as hell, he’s got no idea what the fuck is going on. Who are those people and what the hell do they want from them? The whole situation is giving him the heebie-jeebies.

"What… What’s the matter?" he says, laughing nervously “Is there some kind of problem?”

“No problem.” Billy snaps, a bit too quick, too loud, to sound entirely sincere. “Just seems like my _friends_ here and especially my little sister can’t go a single night without me.”

The last part is dripping sarcasm and Steve doesn’t miss how Max clenches her jaw. It looks like instead of heading for a night out he walked right into a family fight.

“Uhm, ok? I guess I’ll be on my way then." Steve shrugs, takes a step back, he tries not to let his disappointment show or sound through. But there's no way he’ll get between Billy and his gang. That’s not what he signed up for. “See you around I guess?”

He's ready to retreat and call it a night, maybe give up on the wild, reckless fantasy that is Billy entirely. But the guy has other plans.

“Hey wait!” Billy calls after him “Don't mind them! They're just shy around strangers. Why don't you come with?"

Steve very much doubts that even a single member of Billy's gang is anything close to shy but the temptation is too great.

"Where are you going?" he asks with a wary glance at Max and Kali who look anything but ecstatic to keep him around.

"Do you know where Hudson’s Bluff is, overlooking the point?”

Steve hesitates, he’s not so keen on hanging out with that ragtag crew of his, but he also doesn’t wanna be a bummer. Not in front of Billy, anyway. But how the hell is he supposed to know where anything is in Santa Carla? He arrived fucking yesterday.

"No." he shrugs, a bit embarrassed " And, uhm... I don't have a car tonight. So..."

Billy’s face splits into the widest grin Steve has ever seen and for the second time since he’s met him, Steve thinks of sharks and deadly teeth.

“You don't need a car, pretty boy.” Billy says, licks his lips excitedly and uses his thumb to point over his shoulder to where the blue Camaro is parked a few feet down the road. “All you have to do is get in mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to push through setting up some plot points and foreshadowing but we're slowly getting to the fun parts!  
> As you can see I went for the experiments = vampires approach and you can probably already guess who the head vampire is. Also, Steve's mom is basically the exact opposite of Dianne Wiest's character. Poor guy.
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you liked this chapter! Leave me a comment or a kudos to let me know if you did! ;)  
> There is also a [**moodboard**](https://highon85.tumblr.com/post/184918062711/harringrove-the-lost-boys-au-rated-e-much-to-his) for this fic on my tumblr if reblogging is your thing!


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